by Chloe Cox
22
Holt chucked the file at his desk, giving it the perfect spin to land right on top of all the other files, and leaned back, rubbing his neck.
There was too much paperwork with this job. He wanted to be out in the field.
He wanted to be out in the field for one specific reason.
And he couldn’t. Instead he had this file he didn’t want to sign off on.
Holt rolled his shoulders, and wondered if he could hang a heavy bag in his office. Find a joist, drill it in over lunch. He could have somewhere to put this energy in an hour.
Because he sure as hell couldn’t think about the case he wanted to think about. Not after what happened at the Oyster Festival. That snake, Alan Crennel, standing there, looking at his love. And the look in Simone’s eyes. He knew there was something there, something she wasn’t talking about.
And he could guess, he could use his investigator skills and figure out which the of the all bad options were most likely pretty damn quickly, but not if he wanted to do right be his sub or stay on the right side of the law. Because if he let his brain think about the possibilities before Simone was ready to tell him, no force on Earth would stop him from going over there and beating the truth out Alan Crennel.
So he shut it down. Having the self-control of a Dom came in handy, and he was using it. Because he knew that was best for Simone, and this time, that’s what he would choose.
He would choose Simone—and what she’d taught him without even realizing it.
It had been at the Oyster Festival, just before Crennel showed up. The way he’d seen her look at Cave…
See, Holt saw Cave, and he saw the man who’d been such a coward that he’d sold Simone out because Alan Crennel had told him to. But Simone looked at Cave and saw a full human being, one who was trying to be a good dad. She saw a man who was a coward and a jerk and good dad, all at the same time.
And for a second, Holt had seen it too.
It was like a scene in a movie where it suddenly goes from black and white to full color. In Holt’s line of work, seeing the nuance of full color just got in the way. Hell, he’d known more about Cave’s situation than Simone had, and he’d figured out even more seeing Cave there with his kid, but Simone had still been the one to look at him with forgiveness.
So he’d seen the world in full color for the first time in a long time. He looked at the file he’d thrown across the desk. He was still seeing in full color, because of her.
And it was making his job impossible.
“Screw this,” he muttered, and launched himself out of his seat, grabbing his jacket and his keys as he walked out. He moved quick, and it was the middle of the day. He was out of the office and parking his car at his destination in under fifteen minutes.
This time he didn’t have to say anything before he got the key. The barista just chucked it at him, and he kept walking.
And this time Cave answered the door looking almost like a human being.
“Don’t talk,” Holt said. “I’m going to state a theory, and then I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do about it, and you don’t have to say anything at all if you don’t want to. Understood?”
Cave eyed him warily for a long beat.
“Ok,” he said.
“I think Alan Crennel is blackmailing you into helping him,” Holt said. “I think he’s blackmailing you with evidence of your participation at his club. I think he’s threatening to release that evidence in the middle of what looks like a custody battle for your teenage daughter, a daughter you’re already afraid is slipping away from you because of the divorce. I think you are completely terrified, and I think Alan Crennel is a piece of shit. And I am going to get that sonofabitch and nail him to the damn wall.”
Cave didn’t say anything at all. He stood in the middle of his cluttered apartment with his mouth open. Holt could still see the bills from the law firm piling up on the table behind him, the attempts at cooking. New takeout containers from when cooking didn’t work.
And Cave standing there, still staring at him, his eyes beginning to tear up.
“Understood?” Holt said, finally.
Cave nodded.
“Understood,” he said.
Holt left just as quickly as he’d arrived, because he wasn’t done. The truth was, it wasn’t just the Crennel case that had him worked up today. He knew he would get that piece of crap. He didn’t know what it would cost him, yet, but it didn’t matter. He’d get him.
The reason he couldn’t keep still, the reason he was getting in his car and driving right over to the club, was the other case.
It was because of Simone.
Holt had one thing on his mind as he slid into the parking lot of Club Volare, where his truck towered over Luke Logan’s minivan. The fact that he’d managed to get the Mom Car back to the club again meant he must have got the engine in working order. Holt could hear the man laughing so loudly that his voice carried through the club’s open windows.
Luke’s wasn’t the only presence that Holt sensed as he passed through. He heard the musical notes of feminine laughter too—Charlene and Olivia, among others. Blue, perhaps. Some of the other Doms.
None of them Simone.
He pushed through the doors of Club Volare in time to almost get run over by Olivia.
“Sorry!” she called with a giggle, carrying an armful of flowers into the ballroom.
Holt inhaled the air.
Simone was there.
He followed Olivia into the ballroom. The Love for Life dinner was now only a couple of days away, and the ballroom had already been completely converted for the charity event. If he cared to look, he wouldn’t have recognized it.
None of it interested him.
He was interested in the woman who’d made him see in more than just black and white. He needed the woman who was currently standing on tiptoe on a low ladder, trying to hang a banner over a door.
Simone was stretched up to her absolute tallest, which was impressively tall. The effort of being up on her toes made her calves stretch into long lines. Her blouse stretched around the back because she was leaning, and he could see the faint white line of her bra strap through it. Working hard while wearing a bra. He wanted to run his hands under the elastic, smoothing the skin with his fingertips.
This was her fault.
“Simone,” he said.
He saw his voice carry up and ripple through her body. Saw that awareness fill every part of her. Knew what it felt like, because he felt it too.
But when she looked down and smiled, the smile didn’t touch her eyes.
He knew there was something wrong. There were lots of things wrong. There was the Greenfield case, where right and wrong mixed together. There was Crennel, full of wrongs. But most of all, there was something wrong with his sub, something she wouldn’t tell him about. And he couldn’t fix any of it.
Holt reached up and lifted her off that ladder, spinning her around to face him. He caught her breathless, off balance.
“I thought you were working today,” she said, and she put her hand out to touch his chest.
They were so close, and yet so fucking far apart. And he still saw in full technicolor.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he rasped.
Simone blinked. He could see the gears turning behind her eyes, saw the beginnings of panic there. He was about to do something about it when she looked up at him, and everything changed.
Her eyes softened. She was looking at him like…
“What’s wrong?” she said, and touched his face. “What happened?”
Holt breathed in deep. She was worried about him. Whatever was going on with her, and she was worried about him.
Well, screw that. Honesty demanded honesty. He wasn’t going to lie to his sub.
“I want to do the right thing, and I don’t know what that is anymore,” he said. “And nothing matters without that.”
Simone smiled gently.
&
nbsp; “Well, I trust you,” she said. “You always do the right thing, Holt. Even if it’s not the easy thing.”
And she was certain. So fucking certain.
Holt wrapped one arm around her and kissed her.
It wasn’t enough.
“Come on,” he said, and took her tiny hand in his.
She laughed. “Holt, I have to finish—”
“Now,” he rasped.
Simone’s eyes went wide, but she followed him. Still not fast enough. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, oblivious to all the people around them, and dipped down to pick her up. Then he took the stairs two at a time.
He could hear Simone’s breathing get shallow, fast. He could see her chest rise and fall, could see the flush start to spread across her skin.
He needed to be inside her. The world made sense when he was inside her. He felt it like a fever, spreading across his skin, making him jumpy, making him twitch.
He kicked open the door to the first private room on the second floor, set Simone down, and ran his hands up her shuddering thighs as he came up.
“Off,” he growled.
She moved to obey, but he couldn’t wait. He unzipped her skirt while she took off her blouse, her bra. He stripped the skirt, her underwear, her shoes, until she was completely naked. Bare. Exposed.
For him.
Holt looked at all of her, and his heart ached. He loved this woman. He wanted to protect her and fuck her and make her his, beyond a doubt, for the rest of fucking time. He would fight the world to keep it from touching her. From hurting her. Even though she didn’t need him to. Maybe because she didn’t need him to.
Holt unbuckled as he stepped forward, freeing his cock in the time it took to lift his woman off the ground and lay her down on the bed with him between her legs. No more words. No more waiting.
She gasped as he pushed into her, making that little noise of surprise he would replay in his mind for fucking days. He didn’t need to tell her to look at him as he slowly entered her. Neither of them could look anywhere else. He sank into her inch by warm, wet inch, feeling her softness around him, feeling her body need him. Want him.
Feeling her welcome him while he claimed her.
He moved slowly at first, his eyes pinning hers, wanting her to know what was true and real. Wanting her to know who she belonged to. Who he belonged to.
No words. There weren’t words for this, not this time. Whatever happened while he brought them both to the peak, there weren’t words for it.
Yet.
23
Simone looked at the hustle and bustle that bubbled in every corner of Club Volare and wondered how time had passed quite so fast.
Tonight was the night. The Love for Life event. Somehow everything had come together: the tickets were sold out, the vendors had come back online, and they’d picked up some good press along the way. Simone had worked her butt off, and it was almost over. She was almost home free.
Only she didn’t feel relieved. Not even when Rose sauntered up, a cat-like grin on her face, to tell her that Cave would most certainly not be a problem in the near future. Or possibly ever again.
Ok, truthfully, the idea of Cave happily submitting to Rose and promising never to mess with the club ever again under, she was sure, some form of delicious duress, did make Simone smile. But it didn’t last.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Holt.
All week, he’d given her the space she needed. And it didn’t matter. He was still in her head.
The last time they’d been together was still…
She could feel him, on her body. When she closed her eyes, she could see his.
“You have got it bad,” she murmured to herself, and slipped into the small library, off the main hall where all the action was, to get her head sorted out in privacy.
Privacy that lasted all of one second.
“Knock knock,” Charlene said as she slid the wood-paneled door to the library open and slipped in, just as Simone had done a few seconds earlier. “What are you hiding from?”
Simone laughed, though it felt forced. It’s not like she could answer truthfully. Telling people you were being blackmailed by Alan Crennel sort of did his dirty work for him. And telling people about Holt…
She didn’t even know what to say about that.
“That obvious?” she said instead.
“Sorry, sweetie, but yes,” Charlene said.
“Well, what about you? What are you hiding from?”
Charlene sighed as she sank into one of the leather armchairs and gave Simone a look.
“My Dom,” she said. “I mean, I love the man, don’t get me wrong, but…”
“Is everything ok?” Simone asked. Charlene and Luke were basically proof that the universe sometimes doled out happy endings. If they couldn’t make it work…
“No, everything’s fine,” Charlene said, waving her hand. “I just need a break from the constant…I don’t even know what to call it. Constant care-taking?”
“You’re going to have to fill me in here,” Simone said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Charlene smiled, and blushed. “We haven’t really told anyone,” she said. “But we’re trying to get pregnant.”
Simone sat straight up and clapped. There were some things that could pull even her out of a blackmail-induced funk, at least temporarily, and that was one of them.
“Don’t look so happy,” Charlene said. “If I’d known the whole process would turn Luke into even more of an overly protective Dom…”
“You would have done it sooner?”
Charlene laughed. “Yeah, maybe. But there is something…I don’t know. Sometimes it’s almost funny to watch Doms learn how to deal with stuff they can’t control, you know? Like, walk a mile in my heels, buddy, see how it feels.”
Simone laughed. “He wouldn’t.”
“Not without breaking some very expensive heels, he wouldn’t. But there’s something kind of…I don’t know, scary about it? Because you realize how much they need you, too. Most of the time I’m so aware of how much I need him, but now…”
Simone stared at her friend. That was it. She hadn’t realized it, but that was why she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Holt. About that last time they’d been together, when there was clearly something wrong, when he’d said he didn’t know what the right thing was. About how he’d come to her, wordlessly, lifted her off that ladder, carried her upstairs. About how he’d stripped her with that naked desire. About how he’d claimed her again, and again, and again, looking into her eyes, needing her as much as she needed him.
“It’s scary to know how much you can hurt them,” Simone said, finally. “The strongest person you’ve ever known, and you can hurt him. It’s terrifying.”
Charlene looked at her.
“Well, you’ve hit the nail on the head, Miss Happy McCheerful,” she said. “Everything ok?”
Simone smiled, maybe a little too quickly.
“Yeah, I’ll just be happy when all this is over,” she said, and waved her hand as though she was only talking about the Love for Life event.
Of course, Charlene wasn’t fooled. That eyebrow went up, and Simone knew Charlene wasn’t buying it. But Char also knew when to push and when to leave well enough alone.
“Uh-huh,” Charlene said, standing up. “Well, you are kicking ass in all areas of your life, and you should be proud of yourself for that. Now I’m going to go put up lights, so if you see my Dom tell him I’m doing something perfectly safe and send him off to the garden or something.”
“Deal,” Simone said.
Charlene stopped, her hand on the sliding door, and looked back over her shoulder.
“And you would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Charlene said. “Eventually?”
Simone sighed. “Eventually,” she agreed, and Charlene left.
She just didn’t know if she believed it. No matter how hard she tried, Simone couldn’t envision a un
iverse in which she could tell anyone about that night. The night she got kicked out of Club Volare, the night she went to Sinsations, the night she ended up in the hospital. Because she remembered it. She remembered every little detail. The one silver lining of alcoholism, that you don’t have to remember your greatest shame, and she’d screwed it up by sobering up for the really debased stuff and then getting wrecked enough for a hospital visit afterwards.
The worst part was remembering how much she’d hated herself. She didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want any of it to be true. And if it weren’t for Alan Crennel, she could go on with her new life as though it weren’t.
She could go on with her new life with Holt without being afraid of hurting him. Of disappointing him. Or, worst of all, of seeing his face when he finally found out what kind of person she really was.
She shuddered at the thought, her mind shying away. It was literally something she couldn’t think about without having a physical reaction. Her body was tense and frozen, like she wanted to flee or fight but could only stay exactly where she was, trapped.
Simone breathed deeply and slowly, breathing in calm and breathing out the bullshit, the way she’d learned in rehab.
And then she heard the ping.
Simone didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, staring at her phone.
The text was short, and to the point.
“You have until midnight tonight to help me, or I send this to every person in your address book.”
She hadn’t watched the video clip that followed, and she refused to focus on the still thumbnail image that hinted at the content. She already knew what it was. She didn’t need to look.
Some part of her brain was still working analytically, though. If he had every person in her address book, he must have cloned her phone while she was in his dungeon. Which, while not the worst thing about Alan Crennel, was still spectacularly creepy. The only saving grace was that she regularly purged photos and saved them to a hard drive, and, since she’d just been dumped earlier that night, she’d actually just deleted all the photos of Holt left on her phone before she’d ever gotten to Crennel’s. So at least he didn’t have photos. There was that.
